Daughter of Atlas
by ImagineGal
Summary: The story of how a wayward pirate captain and a trapped seagoddess first met.  Jack goes to Tia Dalma to talk business, and gets more than he bargained for.


**DISCLAIMER:** I've only borrowed these characters to play a little. Hopefully they've had fun.

* * *

Jack Sparrow was wet, tired, and dirtier than usual. He also had a splitting headache the likes of which he hadn't experienced in months, but nothing could have made him feel any worse than he'd been feeling in the last few weeks. Being able to catch transport off that godforsaken spit of land hadn't improved his mood much, but it had prompted his rum-soaked brain to start coming up with a plan for retribution.

The Black Pearl was certain to be at Isla de Muerte by then, but as soon as they found what _he'd_ been looking for they'd be off again, making a beeline for the nearest friendly port to start trading the gold for drink and women. And when they got there, he'd have already beaten them.

At least, that had been the plan.

The rum-runners had a stop to make before they reached any civilized area—depending on how broad one's definition of "civilized" was. In any case, during their stop Jack had stumbled into the woods to take a piss and had inadventantly fallen asleep on the ground. When he'd reappeared on the beach, the rum-runners' ship had vanished.

In retrospect, it probably hadn't been the best idea to be sneaking bottles from their cargo.

Now he was weeks behind, without a ship, without a plan of re-gaining said ship, and without any means with which to carry out said plan, etc. He'd gotten lucky once with the rum-runners, but they wouldn't be back for weeks.

He needed help.

One thing he'd managed to gather, after a couple days of wondering what the hell he was going to do, was that the island he was currently stranded on was not any old island. The natives spoke of a witch who lived in a jungle cove. Jack had seen enough in his short dealings with Davey Jones to know that things like curses and witches were far more than superstition. This seemed like his best—possibly only—shot. Maybe he'd have to sell his soul again. That could be fun.

An eerily quiet young boy rowed Jack on his way to the raised hut. Evening was settling over the jungle, and the usually droning insects were silenced by the hard splatter of rain on the canopy and floor. Jack shifted restlessly, hoping the pistol was stashed safely enough in his jacket to keep it from getting ruined, thus wasting the one shot he was saving. It might be a long time until he got to use it, but he'd use it right.

It was signaled to Jack that he should ascend the steps alone, and so he did. The rain made hollow music with the gourds and other decorations hanging around the outside of the hut. The evening air was hot.

No sooner had Jack opened the crooked door—not bothering to knock—than he heard his name spoken.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow." She spoke the title with a certain air of mocking as she turned to face him. Jack didn't mind so much as he was glad just to be addressed as such.

"Well, so much for introductions," he sidestepped into the room, quickly scoping out both it and the woman it contained, "Tia Dalma."

"Very good." She was small, with brown skin—though not very dark—and a child-like face. She was smiling at him, and holding—right beneath her breasts, which were half-revealed by the neckline of her shift—a tray with two earthen cups. Whatever was in them, it was steaming. She swayed slowly to the table in the center of the room, and set one of the cups down on it.

The silence annoyed Jack, but he let it stretch out anyway, raising his eyebrows in case she was about to say anything. No such luck.

"So word on the island is you're quite skilled in the, ah, witchy arts, you might say." He waited for confirmation of this, and got only that smile she'd been wearing since he walked in. She was still holding the tray with a single cup left on it. "I've come to see if we can cut some sort of a deal, savv—"

He was halfway through the signature word when she cut him off. "You have a great doom surrounding you," The smile changed, and she came then towards him, her eyes fixed on his. The tray was brought up higher, in offering, "Drink."

Jack frowned at the beverage. It didn't look or smell like anything dangerous, but the offer was suspicious. "Sorry love, think I'll pass. I'm just here on business."

Tia scoffed. It was the first not-pleased expression he'd seen her make, "Oh, come. You are tired, and thirsty, and you are not going anywhere by sea tonight. Please, have a seat." She gestured to the table, and the two chairs set nearby.

That seemed like a reasonable offer, at least. "Don't mind if I do." Jack sat, swept off his hat, and waited for her to take the seat across from him. "So, what I need is—"

"You wish is to find de Black Pearl," she cut in, smiling that neat little smile again, "Which you have lost on account'a your mutinous first mate. You wish is to seek revenge for him thievery of de boat you bargained your soul for, and the treasure you sought."

She kept interrupting him, and on top of that, knowing everything about him. It was a little annoying. "Yes," he answered, knowing she couldn't cut into that.

Tia's dark eyes went wide. "Dere is a curse on dat island," she said.

"Really?" That was a new one. Certainly there was some sort of magic surrounding an island that was so difficult to find, but a curse… Jack brushed it aside with a sniff. "That's not my concern. I want my ship back."

"Of course you do." Tia picked up the cup in front of her and took a little sip, then gestured to the one that sat, still, on the tray. "Please, drink. It will help to recover your strength."

Jack watched as Tia took another drink from her own cup. He thought he could remember seeing her pouring as he'd opened the door, but her back had been to him then. She could have slipped anything into his cup if she were quick enough.

"How are we to do business if we do not trust each other?" Tia asked, her lips lingering at the edge of her cup.

Jack donned a smile at that. "Well, I'd say it seems you know just enough about me _not_ to trust me, and I know exactly nothing about you, so I'd pose the same question."

"I know you are a brave man who will go after what him wants when him know what it is. As for me…" she shrugged, "…you hear what de island people say. Never dere is a bad word against me."

True enough. Though with her power to know everything about everyone, she could very easily have them all bewitched, or simply living in fear. Well… only one way to find out, and they weren't getting anywhere otherwise. Jack picked up his cup, giving it a tentative sniff. Smelled like tea. He took a sip. It was tea.

"Dere now," Tia said. "Not so hard, is it? Now business." She leaned forward on the table, curling one arm under her bosom while the other held her teacup aloft. "What do you have to trade me in return for my help?"

Here it went. He had to play this cool, and hope someone like her valued money. Luckilly, he'd just happened to pick the pocket of a few annoying crewmembers of the ship he'd most recently been on. He took the bag from his pocket and tossed it on the table, letting the coins make a pleasing noise in the process. "Fifty pieces of eight, or thereabouts." He took another small drink from his cup, but kept his eyes on her, gauging her reaction.

"Hmm," her lips perked up in that smile again—plump little lips, and the smile brought a shine to those big black eyes. "Coins are pretty, but dey do no good to me here. What else can Jack Sparrow offer?"

It was strange hearing his name without the title in front of it after so long. "Captain," Jack corrected her with a terse look, "Captain Jack Sparrow…" Something was odd all of a sudden, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

Tia stood up. "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow." The mocking tone was there again, but Jack was more focused on the way her hips swayed as she approached him. "What can him offer, hmm…?" Her fingertips brushed the side of his neck, and Jack felt his heart suddenly pound. "Or maybe _Captain_ Jack Sparrow need more time to consider…" Her hand was guiding his, it was bringing the cup to his lips, and several things about this seemed terribly _wrong_, though nothing about it felt _bad_. "Maybe him need to relax… He been worrying too much lately…" The cup was empty, her hands, calloused but gentle, were on his skin, and her voice was a whisper in his ear.

Then he was standing, and biting at the brown flesh of her ear. Her thick hair smelled of oil and sweat—the strong scent and how her small frame pressed against him had him hard and wanting her in seconds.

Whatever had been in that tea probably had something to do with it, too.

He pushed her up onto the table, where she sat with her legs parted, waiting for him. Candles fell, but were extinguished in the process, so they were forgotten immediately. Outside, rain pounded the forest floor, soaking the air, making the inside of the hut feel thick and heavy: Jack was already sweating inside of a few minutes, while Tia Dalma rocked into him, as his flesh sank into hers and her black nails clawed at his shirt.

Her lips were at his ear then, her voice low and lusty as she began to speak: backwards-sounding words interspersed with gasps and moans, drawn out into a posessed drone as he spent himself. But only a few seconds passed before his blood began to pound again.

Things began to blur then. He took her on the table, against the wall, on the bed—her straddled over his hips, her dark hair falling down into his eyes, then him above her, his mouth descending to her shoulder. Sometimes he thought he saw light, sometimes heard rain, but the words seemed constant, and he never tired until finally he slept, deep and dreamless.

--------------

The rain was gone and light was streaming through the cracks in the walls as Jack Sparrow opened his eyes, feeling wearier than he could ever remember feeling—though at the same time rested. He was pinned to the bed by his own weight.

He didn't see her yet, but he felt her thin fingers on his chest, twining with the dark, curly hairs. "So de great Captain Sparrow is awake at last."

"What—" With great effort he turned his head, and saw her lying naked and smiling next to him. It took a moment for him to remember what had happened. "You," he noted, squinting.

"Did him have a good sleep?" She was grinning. Her teeth were black. "Him should have, after such hard work." A catlike stretch and a turn of unearthly grace and she was up off the bed and walking to the other end of the room. "I have resolved de problem of your payment."

Jack looked at her sidelong through wide eyes, then glanced down at the now-limp piece of flesh between his legs. "If that's all you wanted, love, I don't think the tea was necessary—"

"Dat is not what I meant." She was rummaging through the odds and ends on one of her shelves for a moment, and then she turned back to face him—clutched between two freckled fingers was a small glass vial; in the other hand was a metal needle. "De blood of one with a doomed fate is always valuable. Enough to fill this vial, and I will give you a tool to locate what you seek."

He wanted to sit up, but it was still enough effort just to lift his hand and take the container from her. Still, he tried to put on his best skeptical sneer. "What sort of tool?"

"Payment first."

He sat up almost automatically then, as though something had suddenly allowed him that hadn't been before. But a brief confused expression was all this elicited before he cut at the pad of his thumb with the needle.

When he handed her back the vial, filled near to the top with blood, those black teeth flashed again. "Ah." From behind her back she produced a small box with a compass rose painted on either side, and presented it to him. "It is done, then."

"A compass?" Jack eyed Tia Dalma suspiciously, opened the small box, took a look, closed it, looked at her more suspiciously. "A broken compass."

She shrugged as her hands worked to tie the strings of her skirt. "If you don't want it, give it back."

Just to make sure, he took a second look. The needle was swaying and spinning, but when it finally stopped it was certainly not pointing north.

"De compass points to de thing you want most in de world." She settled next to him, his clothes folded in her hands with the hat on top. "It will help you, Captain Jack Sparrow…"

There was a pause as he looked from the clothes to her, then he shut the compass with a snap and snatched up his hat. "Captain. Exactly."

EPILOGUE

Captain Jack Sparrow stormed up the steps this time and threw the door aside with abandon, only to find her calmly sitting at her table.

"Two years," he proclaimed, incredulous, approaching her with a wide-eyed gaze. "You had me in your bed for _two years_!"

She stood up. Her eyes never left his. "I did," she said.

He held the look for a moment, and almost said something to the effect of, not that he didn't _enjoy_ it, but she could have at least told him about the preconditions—but no. This time there were no tricks, no tea, and no backwards talking. Jack took her how _he_ wanted her, and every time he pulled at her hair or left a mark on her skin he remembered it was supposed to be revenge.

Neither said a word, even afterwards as he was getting dressed. As Jack reached for his hat, the final piece of his outfit, he was stopped by her laugh. He looked up to see her beaming at him from the bed, as always unashamed by her nakedness.

"You hate de man who tricked you," she said, "But you love de woman. Dis will happen again, Jack Sparrow. But next time, I will not be de one."

"Whatever you say, love." Then he put on his hat and left, both dreading and anticipating the next time he would have to return.


End file.
